


Perfectio Factum

by vivianne_leigh



Category: BioShock, BioShock 2
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Blood Drinking, Brainwashing, Child Abuse, Hive Mind, Mass Suicide, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:50:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianne_leigh/pseuds/vivianne_leigh
Summary: What if Sofia Lambwon?





	

It’s more painful then she expected, dying.

 

* * *

  

It's not the build up that hurts- the advancing dread of being forgotten, of being molded into something more and somehow less than human without her consent- it's in the way her throat twinges in pain as she swallows, the motion only making the rawness worse.

 

 _“_ No food _or_ water.” her mother had commanded, voice coolly detached as she brushed imaginary lint from her dress. Without waiting for a reply, she stood up and walked from the cramped isolation chamber, her worn heels clacking quietly on the granite floors. From there she had been moved- out of the glass cage of the quarantine room to a cramped cell, with barely enough room for her to spread her arms.

 

That had been 10 days ago.

 

In the gutted space, Eleanor had no mirror, no clocks or even a light, but she counted the hours by the footsteps she heard- be it the heavy thuds of her guards or the lighter, faster footfalls of the smaller splicers. She had been clinging to the noises like a lifeline- up to her ears in rusting metal and dried blood, the prison had nothing else to offer her. Despite the hunger, which had already become background noise in her mind, she was restless, skinny legs tracing a tight loop between the bed and cell door. Bits of blue paper were gathered in the damp corners: the Family had lined her cell with dozens of blue butterflies. Whether it was an act of reprisal or devotion, she wasn’t sure. Either way, as soon as they had locked the door behind her, she'd scraped the paper effigies off the wall with blunt nails and shredded them, letting the remains pile on the floor like so much raggedy confetti.

 

After pacing the inside of her cell for a few hours, she flopped onto the threadbare mattress and stared at the ceiling, stained concrete with fine cracks running through it like spiderweb. She wanted to raise a fuss, kick and scream and howl, but she'd done that already. The first five days she had wrecked her voice with screaming -no easy feat for a Big Sister- and had been met with a dead silence, a sort of frosty indifference that, against her will, had made think her of her mother. Besides, they had no reason to open the cage door. Since the Family had cut off her access to food and water, she hadn’t felt the need to relieve herself, even once. The slug coiling in her insides was gracious enough to keep her alive.

 

More days passed, blurring into one long night. Occasionally from outside her cell she heard a burst of laughter or conversation, or even a scream, echoing long after the fact. Out of everything, these ambient noises were the worst, the final straw. How dare they have experiences, even in this underwater hell, while she scratched at the door like a starving animal? To counteract her rage, she ripped up the blue paper even more, and when that failed she began shredding the mothballed mattress. Once she had calmed down enough, she’d crawled onto the ruined bed and slept dreamlessly.

 

Two days later, her mother arrived.

 

Her hands were empty and her posture was unruffled; Eleanor had the fleeting urge to scream at her, maybe even hit her- anything to rattle her frosty exterior.

 

(It had worked once, when she was younger. She had stood on a bench in Market Street and _howled,_ pulling on her braids for emphasis. It had been over something small, like candy, but it ultimately didn’t matter- Eleanor had just wanted to shatter her mother's veneer. It’d worked- too well, actually. A steel grip crushed her arm, and she was hauled to the floor. Shocked, she’d looked around in confusion only to be met with her mother's furious glare. Dr. Lambs’ eyes were venomous with suppressed anger, quarter-sized spots of red flaming on her cheekbones like someone had pressed their thumbs deep into her flesh. “ _Eleanor, that is_ **_enough_ ** .” she’d hissed, shoulders tight. Eleanor had shut her mouth and turned away, submissive, but a seed of satisfaction had glowed in her chest, laying down roots. Disobeying her mother felt _good,_ a strong catharsis she hadn’t expected but welcomed regardless.)

 

Tearing herself out of the memory and back into the present, Eleanor huddled tighter on the bare bed frame and eyed her mother warily. Her usual dress had been replaced with sensible slacks and a crisp blouse. The perfection of the outfit stung; as her mother drew closer she became painfully aware of the sweat and dirt stains on the outdated shift she wore.

 

“Eleanor.”

 

She blinked, silent. Ignoring the lack of reply, Dr. Lamb pressed on.

 

“You are... _aware_ of my philosophy. Its teachings. Do you recall my lecture on Utopia?”

 

_Utopia._

 

The word curdled Eleanor’s insides and against her will, her heart sped up. Her mother must have noticed somehow, in some part of her countenance, because the corners of her thin lips curled into a smile before continuing.

 

“Utopia exists the moment we are fit to occupy it.” Ignoring her daughters’ posture, she drifted forward, kneeled and covered Eleanor's clenched fist with her own neat fingers.

 

“ _Now_ , you exist. Because we...” Closing her eyes in delight, she smoothed Eleanor's tangled hair down in short motions, seemingly unaware of how her daughter bared her teeth with every stroke.

 

“Are fit to inhabit you.”  

  

* * *

  

The world around her slowed to a stop as the Eleanor digested the words. Before she could stop herself, she’d shoved aside her mother's invasive touch and darted past her through the open cell door. She’d barely gone a full yard before a weight staggered her; one of the guard splicers had hooked his beefy arms around her waist, pinning her arms down before she could react. Desperate, she sucked in a gasp, wriggling like a fish under his crushing grip. The weeks of no ADAM, no food, no _water_ had left her weak, but she refused to go down easily, kicking at her unseen assailant. If she could just find her breath, she could- could-

 

Something cold exploded on her head and shoulders. She could feel whatever it was settle around her like a fog, felt tiny droplets of it invade her sinuses when she inhaled.

 

Her initial confusion melted away almost immediately when she blinked and was immediately drowned in a wash of emerald green, the plasmid blurring the world around her. The arms retreated and she slid to the floor, unresisting. _Run,_ she screamed at her feet, which lay motionless before her. Instead, she just sat there, listening to the slow approach of her mother's heels.

 

“Stand, please.”

 

Her traitorous legs unfolded, pushing her upright. Her mother rubbed circles into the small of her back before urging her forward.

 

Tears trickled down Eleanor’s face as she was marched away, leaving spots of brightness on the filthy tile.

 

* * *

 

She was bathed. Her mother gently guided her to a tub, tucked into a secluded wing of the prison she had never noticed before and ordered her still, calming stripping her and washing her like a child. As she worked, scrubbing between knuckles and under nails, she spoke, though Eleanor could only make out bits: a snippet of a sermon, a piece of a story,  a line from a childhood lullaby. Every time her mother smiled or cradled her hands she wanted to scream-  scratch welts into that pasty skin until her nails broke. But the Hypnosis threading through her veins kept her locked into position, as placid as a doll in the hands of a child. Just as the first vestiges of the fog began to lift and she could feel her hands again, almost flex them, her mother flicked her wrist and she was gone again, encased in jade.

 

Finally finished, Dr. Lamb eased her back out of the tub and thoroughly dried her, taking the time to brush her short hair out with a delicate tortoiseshell comb. With care, she dressed Eleanor in fresh underclothes and another, more elaborate nightgown.

 

“You- _We-_ are going to be Utopia.”

 

With care, she began leading her daughter back towards the quarantine chamber, which seemed oddly silent. Helpless inside herself, she could only shuffle forward under her mother's’ urgings into the vaulted room.

 

As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Eleanor found herself facing a mountain of corpses.

 

The smell of blood- some fresh, some stale, mingling with mold and rot, overwhelmed her senses, even through the dreamy quality of the plasmid. Horrifyingly, her mother perked up at the sight of the bodies, primly gesturing to the pool of warm blood with an expression that could easily be read as loving.

 

“The People have already been prepared.”

 

Taking her by the hands, Sofia guided her around the bodies, releasing to kneel at the lip of the pool intersecting the space. For a moment the two stared at each other, unmoving. To Sofia, Eleanor looked ethereal- framed by the candlelight, skin glowing, spotless dress a testament to her perfection as a vessel.

 

To Eleanor, Sofia looked as she had always seen her-  far below her, with nothing but the blood of others on her hands.

 

With a slow, anticipatory gesture, she beckoned to Eleanor, calmly rolling both sleeves up to the elbow. “And so, the rebirth begins,” she breathed, and at this distance the teenager could see the shakes rolling through her mother's hands. “Enter.”

 

The first step Eleanor took was slow, tremulous- in her head she screamed, trying to command her rebellious limbs. The next step landed her in the ADAM, and the red greedily surged up her legs as she sunk into the deep trough, soaking the fabric of the gown. Silently she waded through the blood, maneuvering until she could float on her back, dull eyes facing at the crumbling ceiling. Her mother leaned over her, smiling serenely, one hand bracing against Eleanor’s chest while the other rested on her forehead. _You don’t even see me now, do you? I’m just another victory,_ She thought at her mother’s serene expression, wishing she could spit. _I hate you,_ she thought viciously, as her mother cradled her. _Hate hate hate_ **_hate._ **

 

“わたし の かんぺき,” Sofia whispered reverentially, before adjusting her hold and plunging the Eleanor under.

 

The ADAM enveloped her instantly, forcing its way inside- liquid pressed into her nose, eyes, and ears, seeping between her lips like poison. The first traces of the flavor were beginning to flood her mouth when she found herself being pulled out again, her mother’s hands having never left. “Drink.” her mother told her simply, before pushing her back into the red swill.

 

Without barriers, the ADAM poured into her mouth, rushing in. Frantically she swallowed, trying to clear her airway, but more pushed in, overwhelming, and the cycle repeated. Her throat tightened at the intrusion. She could feel it entering her system even as she struggled; her body felt hot, lighting up as the ADAM lay claim to her insides.

 

Vaguely she realized someone was speaking to her, far away. Before she could interpret, another voice interjected, then another. And another and another and another, until she could feel her mind buckling under the weight of the phantom memories.The thoughts and flashbacks were relentless, filling the inside of her skull until she felt her head might split open, full to the brim with thoughts from the dead and gone.

 

It’s more painful then she expected, dying. The memories of the Family began eroding her own, chipping away at her sense of self. One moment she had a son, the next she _was_ a son. She was the main attraction at Eve’s Garden- no, she was a dancer, a chef, a writer, a doctor, a baker librarian seamstress maid housewife actorfishermanmogulthugsingerwhore-

 

She was everything, _everyone_ until she wasn’t.

 

 _My name is Eleanor,_ she tried to remind herself, as the flashbacks threatened to consume her. _My name is Eleanor my name is Eleanor_ _Eleanor_ _eleanor_ _**eleanor** _ **_eleanor_ **

 

* * *

 

When the last of the onslaught faded, there was nothing left of the original Eleanor Lamb. Instead, the hive under her skin twitches to life, slowly sitting up in its new vessel. Clots of red tangle in the Vessel’s hair, and it seems almost confused, moving itself almost drunkenly upright as it adjusts.

It is so involved in _being_ -studying new hands and new arms and legs, taking it all in- it almost fails to notice the slim woman standing just to the side, hands and knees drenched red. When she smiles, the Vessel is overwhelmed; even more when the woman (mothersaviorsaint) cups their hand in her own stained fingers and speaks in little more then a whisper.

  
“Welcome home.”


End file.
